Jazz Funeral

George wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound like that. “I do not like any of your attitudes, and I am absolutely appalled at your lack of respect for our bereavement. I move we table the motion until the next meeting.”
    The room was dead silent. George stared at his wife as if at a stranger. Where was the shrew with the nasty, desperate wail? He hadn’t known she had this in her—this strength, this ability. It unnerved him.
    Somehow, it was done and they were out of the conference room, George feeling almost as if he were underwater. He had thought to work today, for an hour or so at least, but now he saw that that was impossible. He just wanted to get out of here; he wanted to look for Melody. But the receptionist hailed him as he and Patty walked by.
    A woman was waiting for them. He didn’t recognize her at first, though obviously she thought he would.
    “Hi,” she said, and smiled with her head tilted a little, tomboy-style. “I’m Skip Langdon. We talked at your son’s house.”
    Patty caught on first. “Oh, yes. Detective Langdon.”
    He took her in his office—it was small for three people, but he certainly wasn’t going to conduct a police interview in the reception room.
    She said, “It sounded like quite a meeting you were having in there.”
    George simply sat in stony silence. How dare she!
    “Listen, I’m sorry to be rude, but I could hear every word. And I’m afraid I have to ask you some fairly personal questions.”
    He raised an eyebrow, a gesture that always intimidated Ham and Patty, and sometimes some of the nephews.
    “I understand you and Ham had some business differences.”
    “Where in hell did you hear that?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t think that matters. I just need to hear the story from you and not somebody else.”
    “You heard right. Ham and I had our differences.”
    “I understand it was a pretty important difference.”
    “Could I ask how this could possibly matter to you?”
    “I’m trying to find out if he had any enemies, Mr. Brocato.”
    “Now wait a minute—”
    But she held up a hand. “Not you, of course. But things got pretty volatile in there.”
    “You honestly think one of his own relatives could have murdered him? Over a few sandwich stands?”
    She might as well have rolled her eyes for all her expression left to the imagination. “I just need to know his part in the business.”
    Patty nudged him, mouthed something. Why the hell didn’t she leave him alone?
    He said, “All right, Detective Langdon, I’m gon’ tell you everything. Why? Because I have nothing to hide. Poor Boys is considering selling out to a large conglomerate for a very tidy sum of money. S’pose to give ‘em an answer on Monday, but turns out we still can’t agree. Can’t even agree to go ahead and take a vote.” He sighed and resumed. “Many board members believe this is the best way to go and that we can still retain our power in the company if we make the right deal. Others believe that greater profits are to be made by pouring a little more money into our own small company and beginning to diversify. Ham was on one side. Patty and I are on the other.”
    “I see. Is Melody a shareholder as well?”
    “Well now, that’s a stupid question and you know it. We’re not about to let a sixteen-year-old vote, now are we?”
    His rudeness had the desired effect. Her cheeks reddened and her voice got a little louder. “Someone would have to vote her shares. Would that be you or Ham?”
    “What the hell are you—”
    Now she was spreading her arms, all coolness again. “Mr. Brocato, I take it a lot of money is at stake. They were two important players in a very big game.”
    “I vote Melody’s shares, dammit. Tell me something—why aren’t you out finding my daughter?”
    “I’d like to be, but I’m talking to you right now.” She enunciated very carefully, stopping just short of contemptuousness. And then her voice turned sweet as pie again. “However, I did find something out that you might want to know.”
    George could feel himself sitting up straighter.
    “Her boyfriend had dumped her.”
    “That sorry Phillips boy. I warned her about that little wrinkled-clothes so-and-so.”
    Patty said, “Flip? But he worshiped her.”
    “Anyway, that’s why she left Blair’s.”
    “Well, that explains it all.” Patty always did jump to conclusions. “She did run away, then.”
    “Oh, Patty, come on. Her brother’s dead!”
    The detective